


Unbearable: A Rope of Sand

by JustANerdyGirl



Category: Clone High
Genre: Abraham Lincoln Being An Asshole (Clone High), Abraham Lincoln is an Incel, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, Cleo deserves depth and rights, Clone High Ensemble, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gandhi is a good friend, God I love writing these tags, Himbo JFK (Clone High), History Jokes, JFK may be horny but he's a consent king, JFK thinks Joan kicking his ass is really hot, Jealousy, Joan and Cleo work on their internalized misogyny, Joan and JFK are Bicons, Joan thinks their enemies but JFK /Does Not/, Love Triangles, Possessive Behavior, Slow Burn, they have modern cell phones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28795482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustANerdyGirl/pseuds/JustANerdyGirl
Summary: Joan has had enough. Enough of Abe ignoring her. Enough of Cleo torturing her. And certainly more than enough of JFK annoying her at every possible moment. But as much as she can't stand him, Abe finally pays attention to her when she's with JFK. The next logical step? Pretend to date unbearable JFK to make Abe jealous (with the added perk of pissing off Cleo), duh. What the worst that could happen?JFK, on the other hand, has determined that it is now his goal to get the sexy, scary goth girl to like him. So, if it makes her happy, and he's got the chance to repeatedly try to hook up with Joan and piss off Abe, why not?What could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Cleopatra & JFK (Clone High), Cleopatra & Joan of Arc (Clone High), JFK & Joan of Arc (Clone High), JFK/Joan of Arc (Clone High)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The line indicates a perspective switch from Joan to JFK and back, and italics are usually used to indicate a character's thoughts!
> 
> Thanks for reading <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight in school gives Joan a brilliant idea that unfortunately involves JFK.

“But, I don’t understand! We had locked in these plans like a week ago!” Joan winced at the whine evident in her tone.

The martyr clone once more found herself fighting back tears - _like such a girl_ \- while Abe absent-mindedly rummaged through his locker.

“I know, but I figured it wasn’t that big of a deal,” Abe shrugged. “Besides, Gandhi had dance practice, so he didn’t go.”

“Yeah, but we knew that ahead of time! He told us and was fine with missing out,” Joan said, familiar nausea returning. 

Of course, she knew Gandhi had a rehearsal when she decided they should “all” go hang out at the Grassy Knoll. Joan did check, and Gandhi had been okay with not going since he and Marie Curie were hanging out after practice. As bad as excluding their third friend made her feel, Joan was just desperate for some one-on-one time with Abe - an anomaly that had become akin to hearing the voice of God.

“You,” Joan grit her teeth through her cracking voice. “You never told me you were bailing! I sat there alone for...” She trailed off at the memory of Marie Antoinette giving her a free basket of fries after an hour of waiting with a silent shake of her head.

Joan restrained herself from swiping at her eyes for fear of smudging her eyeliner, and _God_ , she thought with a shutter. _Living with Cleo was starting to rub off._

“Well, Cleo needed me! She’s my girlfriend, Joan. She outranks you, so if she needed a ride to the mall, my credit card, and for me to carry all her bags, then I have to be there for her!”

Abe still hadn’t looked at Joan nor did he seem to be angry with her. Lincoln merely appeared annoyed that the conversation was even happening. He kept gazing down the hall and glancing at his phone.

_“She outranks you.” “She outranks you.” “She outranks you.”_

Abe’s words rattled around Joan’s skull as her vision began to blur. 

“I don’t know why you’re so upset, we see each other every day.” Finally, Abe turned to look at Joan but didn’t fully meet her eyes. “I’m sure we can make it up at some point when you’re feeling better.” 

He surveyed her one last time, “You look like you’re gonna yak.”

Joan swallowed the bile in the back of her throat as she deflated. “You’re right, Abe. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I got so upset.”

Abe patted her shoulder, as he continued to scan the halls. “Apology accepted. I think I see Cleo; gotta go.”

Abe slid past her, and she watched his head bob through the crowded hallways as he departed. Classmates bumped into her as though they didn’t realize she was there; let alone that she had just had her heart shattered for the umpteenth time by a clone of Abraham Lincoln. 

_In through the nose and out through the mouth_ , Joan reminded herself as she rested her head against Abe’s locker; her pulse pounding in her ears.

“Oof, that was hard to watch.”

Joan jumped with a raised fist and gasp to see Gandhi behind her leaning against the lockers.

“Ho-” She cleared her throat. “How long had you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” Gandhi answered with a shrug. “So, you can disengage now.”

Joan lowered her fist.

“You good?” he asked, despite already knowing the answer.

Joan bit her lip and tugged at a handful of her hair. “I don’t wanna talk about this. See you later,” Joan mumbled as she took off in the opposite direction of Abe.

“Okay,” Gandhi called out. “But, if it makes you feel any better, he didn’t even notice his homie was right here.”

That decidedly didn’t make her feel better.

In fact, Joan had the sudden urge to punch something.

* * *

“So, what do you say to uh you and me taking a little road trip to Pennsylvania?” JFK smirked at Catherine, _the So-So_ ( _Ha!)_.

She was batting her eyes at him which JFK knew meant that Catherine was already a hook, line, and sinker. But, he still hadn’t gotten to the best part of the pick-up line, so JFK pressed on.

“I-err-uh was thinking of this little town called ‘ _Intercourse_?’ And by ‘road trip,’ I mean SE-”

Before JFK could finish his delivery, he spotted Joan of Arc stomping down the hallway with an annoyed look on her face.

“Sorry, Cathy,” JFK closed his locker. “New target acquired, and she’s alone. There has never been a better time to strike.”

As the Kennedy clone slinked away, he heard Catherine the Great sigh, “Why do I even bother with that jackass?”

JFK smoothed his quiff and checked his breath before veering towards Joan. The redhead glanced at him, grimaced, and kept treading past him without the slightest bit of hesitation. 

_Ooo boy, this should be fun_ , the Kennedy clone thought. With new vigor, he whipped up his most presidential smile.

“Hey, err-uh, Of Arc,” he started as he followed her down the hall.

“Cut the shit, Kennedy,” Joan said flatly. “I’m really not in the mood today.”

JFK paused momentarily as his grin wavered. Usually, there’s one neutral-borderline-apathetic exchange from Joan, he would hit on her, and she would hit him. This was their steady, reliable cycle - _their_ thing. Something was off.

“Aww, come on, Of Arc!” He bumped his shoulder against hers, and she immediately stiffened and stilled. “Why don’t you uh relax and tell Ol’ Fitzy all about what’s wrong?”

Joan shoulder-checked back with what Kennedy had long ago learned was deceiving strength.

“I said,” Joan began, voice rising in volume. “‘Cut the shit!’” She swung a clean right hook that connected with his left eye.

The first thing JFK was aware of was Catherine the Great laughing loudly from behind him. He then took a step back and just knew that he was going to have to explain another black eye to Wally and Carl. JFK chuckled.

He turned to find Joan cracking her knuckles and staring back, eyebrow raised as if throwing down the gauntlet. JFK couldn’t help the growing grin. _There she is_.

“Thanks,” Joan said with a huff, tension leaving her shoulders. “I needed that.”

“Just doing my err civic duty. But, is there any chance the scary goth girl wants to uh sock me again?” JFK asked with a glimmer of hope.

Joan just stared at him for a split second before she rolled her eyes. “Sorry to disappoint, Kennedy, but I think I’m good. Next time.”

A chorus of boos filled the hallway, and JFK suddenly realized that, apparently, a crowd had formed around him and Joan - anticipating a fight. _Well, it_ has _been a while since she’s given me a black eye; can’t blame them for wanting a show._

“What seems to be the cause of all this commotion?” a familiar metallic voice inquired.

“Oh shit,” Joan groaned as Mr. Butlertron approached them.

“Hi, err-uh, Mr. B! No issue here!” JFK quickly responded as the crowd began to dissipate around them.

Joan shot him a look and arched an eyebrow. He mouthed back, ‘Play along.’ She scrunched her brows together in confusion, but JFK waved her off.

“Joan, here, uh slipped, and while I tried to catch her, she err accidentally planted one on me.” JFK scratched the back of his neck as he realized how that sounded. “Uh, fist that is. Can’t imagine a smooch doin’ this kind of damage.”

He gestured vaguely to his reddening face, which was only turning that shade because of the punch _thank you very much_ , and laughed weakly.

He received an unimpressed glare from Joan before she cleared her throat, “Yeah, Kennedy was just,” she stated flatly before cringing. “Making sure I was safe because I can be such a _clutz_.”

Mr. Butlertron rotated between Joan and JFK. The redhead mimicked gagging behind the robot’s back and flipped off JFK. The Kennedy clone was desperately trying to keep a straight face with Joan staring _adorably_ menacing daggers at him.

“If that is the case, why was there a crowd?” Mr. B directed the question to the brunette.

“Uhh…” he trailed off. _I’m a Kennedy goddamnit!_ JFK panic-thought. _Not being held responsible for our actions is a key component of the name!_

“Well, you see Mr. B, we wer-” Kennedy had started.

“Mr. B!” A voice boomed in the distance. 

Kennedy turned to see Cleo, with Lincoln in tow, strutting towards them. JFK saw Joan’s posture stiffen as they approached.

“Mr. B, I saw the whole thing,” Cleo said. 

She paused for a moment to reapply her lipstick, savoring the attention of a dramatic pause. JFK had to admit, she always knew how to dominate the moment.

“Hold this,” Cleo said to Abe, who was already carrying two stacks of textbooks, Cleo’s purse, and now a single tube of lipstick balanced on top.

Joan bit her lip and clenched her fists. JFK scrunched his brows together as if to ask if she was okay, but the question was left unanswered. Her gaze remained fixed behind Cleo, on Lincoln, who was staring down adoringly at Cleo.

_Oh._

JFK blinked a few times and tried to catch the rest of what she was saying.

“-nd I was just walking here with my boyfriend Abraham Lincoln,” she said with a caress of his arm; the Lincoln clone shivered.

“When I saw Joan _assault_ poor, defenseless Jack,” she continued. “Punched him straight in the face, and he didn’t even punch back because _some people_ were raised with _poise_.”

Cleo’s smirk at Joan morphed into a sincere smile towards JFK. Upon seeing this, Abe stepped forward to try to hold Cleo’s hand but ended up dropping half the content he was carrying. While Cleo commanded him to clean it up, JFK turned back to the robot.

“I-err-uh don’t have a clue what’s happening with those two right now,” he began nodding at Abe and Cleo. “But uh, Joan didn’t sock me.”

Cleo’s head snapped towards him, and she suddenly was grinning at him with all teeth and dead eyes. They had dated long enough for JFK to know that she was sending him to the dog house.

“JFK,” Cleo menaced, smile unwavering and eyes unblinking. “Are you calling me a liar?”

She began laughing dryly, and _for the Celtics’ sake, I am a dead man walking_.

Abe picked himself up off the floor and puffed out his chest, fixing a glower at JFK. 

“Cleo would never lie! She’s the most honest person I know,” Lincoln said loudly over Joan’s indignant snort. He turned back towards Mr. B, “If she says that Joan punched Kennedy then she punched Kennedy.”

“Abe?” Joan scoffed as she gave him a bewildered ‘ _What the fuck_?’ shrug.

Mr. B rolled over to Joan and stated, “I am programmed to be a vice-principal, butler, and occasional dehumidifier - not to diffuse tension. Did you punch another student, Wesley?”

Joan, who probably could have skedaddled during all the commotion unnoticed, crossed her arms with a groan, “Yes.”

“Alright, that settles it. Detention, follow me,” Mr. B instructed.

Joan began stomping along after the robot, glowering. Cleo waved at her as she passed and commented with a sneer, “I think Abe and I will use our room after school since it looks like you’ll be _preoccupied_.”

He wasn’t exactly sure when he started, but JFK had just noticed he was trailing after Joan again. “Uhh, Mr. B?” 

“What is it now, Wesley?” The vice-principal asked. “Sigh. I said ‘sigh’ as I cannot actually sigh.”

“I-err-uh may not have hit Joan, uh I would never fight a broad, but I egged her on,” JFK admitted before his brain caught up to the situation.

Joan cocked her head to the side and peered at JFK out of the corner of her eye, but he just shrugged.

“Fine, whatever, detention for you too,” the robotic vice-principal computed. “This whole encounter is taking much longer than I had anticipated. Teenagers. Groan. I said ‘groan’ as-”

“Yeah, we got it, Mr. B,” Joan interjected. “Can we just go?”

“Just be glad it was me who caught you two and not Principal Scudworth, or you would be spending the rest of the day in the Death Maze, Wesley,” Mr. B declared. “Now, you two, follow me.”

The two clones proceeded silently for some time before Joan squinted at him, “Why did you do that?”

“Huh?” JFK retorted.

“Get yourself in trouble when Cleo handed you a ‘Get Out of Jail’ free card? What are you up to?” she asked suspiciously.

“The only thing up is my dic-”

“Okay, enough of that,” Joan interrupted, unphased.

She took a step closer to JFK and lowered her voice, “For real though, what are you gonna do? Antagonize me the whole time or?”

JFK shifted closer to Joan, “Dunno, why? You want me to?” He leaned down and gave her his best wolfish grin.

Joan frowned and jabbed an elbow at JFK’s stomach with a quick, “Shut up, Kennedy.”

JFK groaned and doubled over, “You uh wound me, Of Arc.”

“If you two are done,” Mr. B chimed in. “I’ve got to file your disciplinary reports. Please wait outside the office until I call you in.”

Joan and JFK both stiffened and quickly jumped apart as JFK nervously chuckled.

“I don’t trust you, you know,” Joan announced more to the hallway than him, eyes averted. “So, whatever Cleo’s masterminding and you're helping with, just know that I’m not falling for it.”

“Of Arc, I-er-uh, have no idea what you’re going on about,” said JFK, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Look, people like you and _Cleo_? You always want something, and it’s usually at my expense, or worse, Abe or Gandhi’s,” Joan barked.

She entered his personal bubble and jabbed her finger in JFK’s chest, mere inches between the two of them. “So, whatever’s going on, I’ll figure it out because Abe and Gandhi are too _stupid_ to know when they’re being played.”

Joan’s finger was still digging into his chest, and she was now holding fiery eye contact with him despite being a head shorter than the jock. JFK swallowed thickly and felt his face heating up. He tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Is it uh hot in here or is it just us?” he asked with a weak smile.

“Can’t you just go a minute without some sort of come on?” Joan questioned, exasperated. 

JFK opened his mouth to retort. 

“Stop it.”

JFK closed his mouth.

“Hey JFK, wha-” Cleo began as she approached them but froze upon seeing Joan and JFK squared off. “What the fuck?” 

Joan dropped her finger and took a step back with her hands up, much to JFK’s displeasure. Then out of seemingly nowhere, Abe appeared and grabbed Joan to pull her behind him.

“Get away from her!” Abe snarled at JFK.

“Look Lincoln,” JFK began, irritation beginning to course through his veins. 

_Who the fuck gave him the right to just grab at Joan like that?_

“I-err-uh don’t know what you think is happening right now, but I doubt it-” the Kennedy clone was cut off.

“I know you’re used to fooling around with whoever you want,” Abe spat out. “And if I’m being honest, I always kind of envied you for it. But Joan's not like those other girls, so why don’t you just try porking someone else, okay? She won’t fall for it!”

The Lincoln clone spun on his heel and picked up one of Joan’s hands. “Are you alright?”

Joan’s head was snapping back and forth between Abe’s face and their hands so fast, JFK thought her neck was going to break.

“Yeah, I’m great!” Joan exclaimed. “But, nothing was happening between Kennedy and me, I swear.”

“Oh that’s a relief,” Lincoln exhaled.

He immediately dropped her hand before returning to Cleo’s side where he then reached for her hand. Cleo swatted it away, and Abe stared blankly at her.

“What?” he asked.

“Of fucking course,” Joan murmured with a sigh.

“‘ _What?_ ’” Cleo mimicked. “I think you and I need to have a _discussion_ when we get back to my place.”

Just then, the office door opened, and Mr. B gestured for JFK to enter.

* * *

Joan’s head and heart had matching whiplash, so she closed her eyes as she leaned against the wall. Cleo was whisper-yelling at Abe, but the redhead couldn’t make out anything. She heard Cleo’s heels clack on the linoleum as she paced in circles around the now silent Abe. Eventually, Joan heard the click-clack of Cleo’s heels halt with a resounding huff.

“Abe and I will see you at home, Joan!” Cleo called, voice laced with false-sincerity. “Might wanna knock on our bedroom door before you walk in though.”

Joan cracked open an eye to see Cleo begin marching away.

“See you later, Joan. Let me know if Kennedy causes any more trouble, and I’ll be sure to give him a stern talking to,” Abe said with an edge to his voice as he hurried after Cleo.

After a minute or so of the newfound serenity in silence, Joan opened her eyes.

 _Okay, so - noteworthy things_ , Joan thought. _Abe doesn’t like JFK. I knew this, but he doesn’t like JFK_ around me, _not just around Cleo_. _He came to check on me, and he_ held my hand. _Nice. Good information._ _I can work with this. Cleo doesn’t want me around JFK, and it upsets her. I mean, being around him upsets me too, but if it upsets her, he probably isn’t doing her bidding…_

As the cogs in Joan’s head turned, JFK walked out of the office, “Hey, er-uh, Mr. B’s ready for you.”

Joan just nodded, not wanting to lose her train of thought, and JFK held the door open for her.

“Of Arc, just wanted to say sorry for the shitstorm earlier,” JFK added. “I didn’t mean all this err hullabaloo.”

Joan paused and dared a glance at JFK.

“And just so you know, I-err-uh really am not planning anything. At least, I don’t think I am,” he concluded sheepishly.

“You may not be up to anything, but I just might be,” Joan retorted with a small smirk.

JFK blinked in confusion and flinched when Joan's smirk metamorphosed into the most minuscule of smiles before entering the office.

“What just happened?” Joan heard JFK ask the hallway as the door clicked into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abe would 1000% be the guy who unironically says 'yak' and 'porking.' Search your feelings; you know it to be true.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments are the best way to trick me into writing faster!
> 
> Stay safe <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan and JFK sneak out of detention together; all the while Joan figures out the best way to ask JFK for help making Abe jealous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the warm reception! I am having so much fun writing this, and I can only hope you have a high tolerance for vague history jokes and my vast knowledge of the Kennedy Curse.

Normally, detention was such a drag, but this time Joan had two factors working for her:

1) She was devising a plan.

2) Mr. Sheepman was supervising. 

However, one thing was throwing a wrench in her process. A particular pest that didn’t enjoy being ignored.

“ _Psst_ ,” JFK whispered from the desk beside her.

_And there he goes again._

Joan raised an eyebrow and motioned for him to zip his lip, but she could only see the Kennedy clone frown from her peripheral vision. 

The redhead resumed her carefully curated look of utter indifference while taking note not to move. She could see Mr. Sheepman’s head dipping while his blinks became longer. All Joan had to do is wait.

Not thirty seconds later, JFK leaned over and hissed, “Hey, Of Arc.”

From behind her desk and without moving her upper body, she pointed towards Mr. Sheepman, and the corner of her lip twitched. JFK seemingly got the message as his leg stopped bouncing, and he tried to mimic her posture.

Before she knew it, Mr. Sheepman’s head fell into his arms, and Joan was met with the familiar breathy _baa_ -ing of his snores.

“Finally,” the martyr clone relented as she stood up to crack her back.

JFK’s eyes darted between Joan and Mr. Sheepman. “How’dya know he won’t wake up?” he whispered.

“You don’t have to do that, once the snoring starts there’s no looking _baa_ ck,” she chuckled, clearly proud of herself.

JFK rose slowly and eyed Joan with a mix of admiration and trepidation, “Did you err hex him or somethin’?”

Joan grimaced, “Bold of you to assume that I’m a witch just because my clone-mother was burned at the stake.”

“She was _what_?” JFK exclaimed, eyes widening in alarm.

Joan waved him off and went to open the classroom door. “He won’t wake up until detention’s over. You coming?”

“Uh, sure?” the Kennedy clone asked rather than responded.

The cloned saint poked her head out of the door and scanned the hall, “All clear. Just be quiet and follow me.”

“But, uh where are we going?”

Joan just shushed him as they both left the classroom, and she eventually led them to the empty gymnasium where she collapsed onto the bleachers.

“I-err-uh am so confused right now,” JFK confessed and sat down next to her.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Joan retorted.

“So, are we uh finally gonna make out now?” JFK asked, leaning towards her. “If yeah, how much tongue?”

Joan raised her hand to smack him, but he flinched. She reminded herself that she needed Kennedy and lowered her hand. The goth settled with giving him the evil eye and pursing her lips.

“Answer the question,” JFK said with a smirk.

“No, Kennedy,” she sighed. “We are _not_ going to make out.”

“Then what’s happening?” he questioned. “How did you err know we wouldn’t get caught skipping detention? Aren’t you supposed to be a goodie-two-shoes?”

“I knew that would work from practice,” she said, ignoring his last query. “You really think this is the first time I’ve gotten in trouble for kicking your ass?”

“Woah, woah, woah… woah,” Kennedy held his hands up. “Time out. You don’t ‘kick my ass.’ Sides, it’s the first time I-err-uh got in trouble.”

“Yeah, cause you snitched on yourself,” she explained. “How many fights have you gotten in trouble for, _star-athlete_? Hmm?”

JFK was silent for several moments. “Okay, you uh made your point,” he relented.

“Anyway,” Joan continued. “One of the first times he supervised my solo detention, he got so bored he was just scrolling through pics of his mom Dolly on his phone till he fell asleep. Couldn’t wake him up if I tried.

“After a while, I learned that if I do _absolutely_ nothing, he just gets so bored that he konks out pretty quickly and doesn’t come to until the bell rings. Plus, all the teachers, Mr. B, and Scudworth are usually the first out the door after last period. So, I just walk around to kill time and think when I can’t get to the docks. Showed Van Gogh once when he was in for vandalizing the boys’ bathroom on the first floor, but he then got locked out of the building. So, head’s up that outside is a no go.”

“You’re a goddamn genius, Of Arc,” Kennedy said in awe.

“I know,” Joan answered but couldn’t help her meek smile.

“Okay, but it doesn’t explain why you had me follow you here if we’re not gonna make out, or are we just skipping over to second base because I’m err down for anything,” JFK said, pulling at the hemline of his shirt.

“For the love of God, shut up, and please _don’t_ take your shirt off,” Joan turned away and shielded her eyes.

“That one’s definitely a uh first,” JFK said, letting go.

“I can’t believe I’m about to do this,” Joan mumbled more to herself than JFK. “I need your help.”

“Okay, sure,” JFK shrugged.

Joan picked her head back up in confusion, “Huh? You’re not gonna ask with what?”

“You wanna make Lincoln Log err jealous, right?” JFK replied with a grin. “Need some delectable arm candy to get him all hot n’ bothered?” 

He leaned back on the bleachers and slung an arm around Joan, “Yeah, I can do that.”

The martyr clone was dumbstruck; she opened her mouth for only a series of unintelligible fragments to spill out.

“My uh gay dad Wally always says, ‘Close your mouth or you’ll swallow flies,’” JFK chucked and waved a hand in front of Joan’s face.

She blinked, inhaled sharply, and snapped her jaw shut. “How did you know?”

JFK’s raised his brows, “Of Arc, you’re one smart cookie and scary as all hell, but anytime you’re around him, this…” He gestured to her face. “Open book. Can’t really think of anything else you would uh need my help with.”

Joan lightly touched her cheek and frowned, “Oh.”

“Hey,” JFK gave her a quick nudge. “Don’t blame the book when it’s Abe who’s illiterate.”

She grit her teeth, grabbed Kennedy’s arm from around her shoulder, and dropped it back in his own lap.

“You see, that’s the part I don’t get,” JFK sighed.

“What, that I’d rather have a nice guy like Abe than a player like you?” Joan snipped.

“Well, yeah I-err-uh figured that went without saying, but that’s not what I’m talking about,” the Kennedy clone said with a shake of his head. “You said earlier that you don’t trust me, so I gotta ask. Why me?”

Joan folded her arms. “Look, I don’t vibe with your whole _thing_ , but I th-”

“Wait, what ‘whole thing?’” JFK asked, air quotes prominent.

“Skirt-chaser, dumb jock who gets everything he wants and expects me to jump on him like all the other girls in school do,” Joan responded without hesitation.

JFK was silent for a full minute with an unreadable expression before letting out a long, low whistle and simply replied, “ _Woof._ ”

“Well, look at us. We’re literal high school personality stereotypes. The cool, popular, classically handsome athlete and the outspoken, invisible, artistic goth,” Joan said gesturing between the two of them. “We couldn’t be more two-dimensional if we were cartoons, so it makes sense that we’re natural enemies! I’m France, and you’re England. I’m-”

“Hey, fuck you,” the brunette interjected. “I’m 100% American!”

“You’re just making my point,” Joan groaned. “We just don’t mesh. You can’t blame me for not liking you.”

JFK abruptly stood up and took a step back, “You don’t like me?”

Joan stood up as well, “What part of me repeatedly turning you down and beating you up did you interpret to mean that I _like_ you and not that I find you absolutely _unbearable_?”

“I thought that just meant you didn’t want to uh shack up! I didn’t think that you didn’t like me!” JFK said, gaining volume.

Joan rubbed her temples and surveyed his growing distress. “Stop it. What, like you actually enjoy my presence?”

She was getting increasingly irritated because this is _not_ how she envisioned the first step of her plan working out. Now, she had to deal with a clone of John Fitzgerald Kennedy having some sort of meltdown because he met one person who didn’t kiss the ground he walked on. 

_The fucker has the audacity to get bent out of shape when I know for a fact that he hates me just like Cle-_

“Yes!” JFK exclaimed, throwing his arms up for emphasis. “I thought we were friends! If I didn’t like you then why would I agree to err help you make Lincoln jealous?” 

For the first time Joan can recall, JFK genuinely sounded upset with her.

“I don’t know! I’m trying to figure that out!” Joan shouted back, meeting his volume.

“Because,” JFK inhaled deeply through his nose and took a step towards Joan. “Because,” he said much softer. “We’re friends… or at least I thought we were.”

“I never agreed to be friends with you,” Joan retorted uneasily.

She took a step towards him, fists balled up at her sides. “I started saying this earlier, but something about you gets under Abe’s skin. I haven’t ever seen him so…” she trailed off and bit her lip while trying to find the right word. “Aware of me until he thought you and me were, you know.”

JFK raised an eyebrow and looked down at her, “And that doesn’t strike you as kind of err fucked up?”

“It doesn’t strike you as kind of fucked up that I gave you a black eye a few hours ago and you still thought we were all buddy-buddy?” Joan shot back. “My point is, I… I need you.”

She crossed her arms and looked away from JFK, “Don’t make me say that again.”

“Too bad I wasn’t recording,” he stiffly joked while taking another step towards her.

“A shame, truly,” the saint clone returned her gaze to the Kennedy in front of her and jutted her chin out. “You want me to tolerate you? Help me, and there’s your chance to try to get me to change my mind.”

“I mean, I already agreed, and what kind of man would I be if I-err-uh broke my word?” Kennedy asked with a wavering smile.

“Then we’ve got a deal?” Joan extended her hand.

“Deal.”

The two shook on it, and the uneasiness surrounding them slowly evaporated. Joan broke eye contact first and pulled her hand from JFK’s grasp. She was uncomfortably aware of how much larger his hands were than hers, but Joan would be damned if that threw off the power dynamic of their budding fake relationship. After all, this was her plan. _She_ was in charge.

“We should,” Joan cleared her throat. “We should head back to the classroom before Mr. Sheepman wakes up.”

“Huh?” JFK blinked and flexed his fingers. “Oh. Right. Cool.”

“At some point, you and I need to meet up and write down some ground rules if this is going to work,” Joan stated matter-of-factly.

“Ground rules?” JFK asked as the two fell in step towards the gym doors.

“Like what we can and can’t do, when we should break-up, and shit,” Joan said.

“How about uh the Grassy Knoll after we get out of detention?” JFK speedily supplied. “I’m starved.”

“Sounds good to me,” Joan said, trying not to think about how _weird_ this all felt.

“It’s a date then,” JFK replied cheekily. “May I?” JFK offered her an elbow to loop her arm through.

“Ha! Not on your life, Kennedy!” Joan snickered as she elbowed him instead while the two snuck back to detention.

* * *

“I’m not getting in there,” Joan stated firmly, feet planted on the ground.

“Okay, let’s take uh yours then,” JFK shrugged but noticed his convertible was the last in the student lot.

“Cleo has her foster mom’s car because Abe is teaching her how to drive,” Joan spat, and _nope_ , JFK decided that he wasn’t going to poke that sleeping bear.

“Well, what were you thinkin’ cause the Grassy Knoll is err across town, and I’m not walking in these bad boys,” JFK said, pointing to his boat shoes.

“I don’t know, but I’m not getting in there with you,” Joan repeated.

“Well,” JFK started as he jumped the car door and landed in the driver’s seat. “Don’t think you’ve got much of a choice, Of Arc. I could always drive there first and wait the uh couple of hours till you walk there?” He asked with a waggle of his eyebrows for good measure.

“Hahaha, Kennedy, you’re so funny,” Joan delivered flatly. She inhaled and opened the door to sit down.

“Alright, I’ll bite. What’s the uh big hubbub?” JFK asked Joan who looked for a safety handle in his convertible.

“Cars and Kennedys…” Joan trailed off and looked at him. He mimicked her stare and motioned for her to go on. “Do I need to elaborate?”

“Hey, I’m a great driver!” JFK said defensively.

“Kennedy, I saw you flip your car when you were drag racing Abe,” the redhead retorted while searching for the seatbelt.

“The car was fine! Nothing a little err work couldn’t fix, and she’s as good as new now!” JFK affectionately patted the dash.

“Okay, but there’s also Ted’s,” she paused, face screwed up. “ _Car accident_.”

“Who?”

Joan’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her head. “You don’t kno-” Joan stopped herself and shook her head. “But like… Dallas?” she asked incredulously.

“Never been,” JFK answered with a shrug.

“Cool, I actually feel worse now,” Joan laughed nervously. “Where is the _fucking_ seat belt?”

“Hey, easy now!” He leaned towards her and gestured towards the seat belt buckle. “Can I?” Joan nodded, and JFK swiftly buckled her in and tightened the strap. “Promise I’ll go the uh speed limit. Sounds good?”

Joan agreed. He turned the ignition, and Joan cautioned, “But if we go over a bridge, I’m stepping out and walking across. I am _not_ getting Chappaquiddicked by a _fucking_ Kennedy.”

“I have uh no idea what you’re talking about, but whatever you say, Of Arc,” JFK replied breezily.

The car ride to the Grassy Knoll was quiet and slow, and JFK didn’t do well with either of those things. He reached out to turn on the car stereo when he saw Joan tense up. He pulled his hand back and resumed a strict 10-2 position on the wheel until she relaxed again.

“Hey, wanna DJ?” the Kennedy clone offered, mostly to break the silence before he said something stupid.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Joan chuckle, “You wouldn’t like my music.”

“And you think you’d like mine?” he baited.

“Doubt it.”

“Is that something we gotta uh work on? Like, if we’re hanging out, should we like figure out something we can uh both like?” he suggested.

“I mean, I don’t think we’ll be ‘together’ that lon-” 

She was interrupted by JFK driving over a speed bump that he _definitely_ remembered was on this street and _did_ slow down for if Joan asked later. The martyr clone yelped and latched onto JFK’s arm as she braced for an impact that wasn’t coming.

Neither of the two said anything for a moment, and _damn_ did JFK want to embrace being a distracted driver because there was 5 feet and 7 inches of pure rage, clinging to his right arm, eyes shut tight because of a jostled car.

“So,” JFK cleared his throat, and Joan’s eyes fluttered open. “It was a speed hump.”

“I realize that now,” Joan cringed and peeled her hands off of JFK at a remarkable speed. He couldn’t hold back the lopsided grin.

“Well, I-err-uh don’t know about you, but I survived that _traumatic_ ordeal,” JFK teased between fits of laughter.

“Oh fuck you,” Joan huffed.

“Want me to err hold your hand if we hit a rumble strip?” the Kennedy clone goaded, laughter only growing louder. “God forbid, we hit a pothole.”

“You know... you! You… gah!” Joan griped and crossed her arms. JFK thought he could see her cheeks flush, but it was probably just the glare from the window messing with him.

“Holy mackerel! She’s speechless. I-err-uh think I won.”

JFK cackled over her grumblings until he pulled into a parking spot outside the diner. Neither of the two moved nor looked at each other. JFK drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel while Joan inspected her fingernails.

JFK cleared his throat, “So.”

“So.” Joan shrugged.

“Should we uh go inside?” JFK ventured.

“Well, I don’t see any food in here, so sure,” Joan said after thoroughly gnawing on her lip.

“Cool.”

JFK hopped out of the car, and Joan glided out as well before JFK made up his mind on whether he should open the car door for her or not. They wordlessly approached the entrance, and the Kennedy clone’s fingers twitched. He didn’t know what to do with them. If this was a date with a dame or a gent, he would have already schemed a way to maneuver his hand into theirs. If he was hanging out with his friends, he’d have his arm slung around someone or be stabbing Caesar in the back with his finger until he snapped around the twenty-third time. 

But, this wasn’t a broad or a pal. This was Joan. A fiery cross between the two while also firmly being neither. The more he thought about the walking catch-22 beside him, the more his head hurt. JFK shoved his hands in his pockets.

Joan opened the door for him, and he nodded as thanks.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom. You wanna grab us a booth?” she suggested.

“Sure,” he gave her a thumbs up and smiled as she walked away. _What the fuck? You landed with a thumbs up?_

He strolled over to Marie Antoinette at the hostess stand. “Sup, _Mademoiselle_?” JFK said absolutely butchering the French accident.

She blinked at him and looked at the seating chart, “How many?”

“How many of those uh sweet melons ya got?” JFK leaned into the bit, grateful to be in familiar waters once more.

“Two then?” Marie questioned in a bored tone.

JFK nodded and followed the waitress to the table. “Can I start you off with some water?”

“Sure thing, Toots,” JFK gave her an exaggerated wink.

Marie sighed tiredly and walked away.

JFK sank into the seat and buried his face in his hands; the unusual gravity of the situation weighing down on him. Here he was, sitting awkward and alone, at a diner booth after detention with a fresh shiner because the hottest girl in school, who _won’t_ sleep with him, socked him. He was here with said super sexy, scary, hot goth girl because he had agreed to help her make her wet noodle of a crush jealous. All because he wants to annoy her into being friends with him and to _maybe_ convince her that she should fuck him. Possibly.

_Maybe Carl wasn’t joking about dropping me one too many times as a baby._

Marie returned with two glasses of water and paused ever so slightly at the empty spot across from JFK. She quirked an eyebrow just long enough for him to feel insecure and sauntered away.

Come to think of it, Joan had been in the bathroom for a while.

* * *

“Fuck,” Joan growled.

She was standing on top of one of the toilets in the girls’ bathroom and desperately trying to reach the window. It was just out of grasp, and Joan wasn’t sure if she could pull herself up from this angle anyway.

_Guess there’s no running out of here._

She stepped down and flushed the empty toilet to avoid suspicion in case the other stalls were full. She washed her hands and glared at her reflection.

“Pull yourself together, bitch,” she muttered and pointed at herself in the mirror.

It’s really not her fault for wanting to bail. After all, JFK was probably out there flirting with Marie, or he came to his senses and just left. Or worst of all, he was texting Cleo, and they were making fun of how desperate she was to win over Abe.

The saint clone then held eye contact with herself as she promptly smacked herself across the face, just hard enough for her frontal lobe to start functioning again.

_Ok, all you have to do is scowl and bear it. You’ve got the plan; stick to it. JFK already agreed, so you just have to put up with him for a little bit before Abe comes to his senses. You’ve waited this long for him; you can manage a little longer._

Joan splashed some cold water on her face before realizing better and grabbing a paper towel to stop her makeup from smearing. She grimaced while dabbing around her eyes. It was a little smudged but good enough. Besides, it’s not like she was on a _real_ date or anything.

“Oh God,” Joan actualized aloud.

_I’m on a fake-date with JFK right now._

The sinking pit in her stomach rematerialized, and maybe she _can_ make it out of that window if she threw her weight against th-

_No. Do it for Abe._

Joan nodded at her reflection one last time, “Do it for him.”

She walked out of the bathroom and looked for either JFK’s shirt or hair; whatever she saw first.

Joan rounded the corner and locked eyes with him from their table. He smiled brightly and held up his hand in a half-wave. She calmly walked over to the other side of the booth and took her seat, ignoring all of her primal instincts telling her to _run_.

Distantly, she heard Marie exclaim, “ _Oh, mon Dieu_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I love these two chaotic dumbasses who share one brain cell so much. I'm sorry for all the bad jokes, and you definitely should not google Ted Kennedy car accident if you don't know about that. *nudge nudge*
> 
> Please leave Kudos and comment if you like because that is honestly my biggest motivator. Thanks!!!! <3
> 
> Oh, mon Dieu - French for "Oh my God"


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